Heaven Above and Earth Below
by Ms.MaraJade
Summary: Aramis requests a respite from the duties of first minister, and Anne fears that he is considering resigning from the position. Part of the August Fête des Mousquetaires challenge: Rest and Relaxation.


_Author's Notes_ : I'm not entirely certain where this idea came from in my jumble of Musketeer inspiration, but I decided to let the words land on the page to see where they would lead. I hope that it meets with the expectations and rules of the challenge, and that it captures the spirit of "The Musketeers."

 _Disclaimer_ : I do not own "The Musketeers" in any capacity with the exception of the books written by Alexandre Dumas from where these characters were inspired. There is no money made from this hobby, but that does not stop my imagination from conjuring up new stories.

 _Summary_ : Aramis requests a respite from the duties of first minister, and Anne fears that he is considering resigning from the position. Part of the August Fête des Mousquetaires challenge: Rest and Relaxation.

 **Heaven Above and Earth Below**

Sitting on the simple, wooden chair behind the table, he wore nothing to signify his rank or his position. He was merely adorned in a plain, white tunic with brown pants, and ordinary boots. This was his place of solitude where he learned he could be nothing more than he wished – and in this moment, he was still a well-trained former musketeer. He had neglected this part of his duties for longer than he had intended, and he needed this time for the routines that had always eased his soul and offered him a meditative state of calm in the past. Unfortunately, even this normally calming routine was not settling his distress, and he knew that he would eventually need to take other measures to ease his soul.

In the meantime, and until he could take that much-needed respite, he picked up the short-range musket and the oil-soaked rag. Running the cloth over the sections of metal and wood, he watched the silver slowly return to its splendid shine as the wood darkened beneath the moisture of the oil. The weapon that had once been nearly as faithful as the polished and sharpened sword on the table before him felt like nothing more than an ornamental piece for the last couple months. He had spent more time fighting with his sharp wits and quick tongue than with any kind of real weapon, and there were days when he longed for the excitement of not knowing what was coming next. Then, he would feel that tightness in the scar tissue along his ribs, and he would remember what it was about the fight that he did not enjoy.

Putting the rag down, he picked up a dry cloth and used it to wipe the excess oil off the weapons before turning the cloth on his hands to clean them. Then, he quickly stood and lifted the musket with a taut arm, aware of the orange glow of sunset streaking into the window. That ray of light seemed to mark his path, as the sunbeam targeted the small, wooden box on the top shelf of the bookshelf across the room. He took that familiar heartbeat to steady his breath, and when he pulled the trigger, the quiet snap of the hammer was no more harmful than if he had tossed a feather at his intended target. He had never loaded the gunpowder or a musket ball, nor did he set a flint that would provide the internal explosion to create the projectile.

Lowering his arm, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye in the slowly dimming room. He mused that he would need to light the candles soon if he stayed here much longer, as that sunbeam was already fading. In the daylight, his first minister office was a reflection of deep and rich browns from the wooden walls and shelves that held so many documents. However, in the night, it was a darkened place, and one he often avoided, as he would rather spend his evenings in the candlelit rooms of the palace with the two people he cared about most.

"I never meant to make you feel like a prisoner," her soothing voice told him softly as she pressed into the room just ahead of her words.

Smiling in his way to hide what he really felt, Aramis gently put his faithful musket back onto the weapons table where he kept his small armory when not in use. He shifted his gaze to the kind and wise blue irises of Queen Anne, noting how the orange glow from the falling sun cast a golden glow over her lavender gown, giving it a rusted appearance.

Silently, he thought that, perhaps, it was a sign that they both had become prisoners of their own making, both rusting away to empty shells of the vibrancy that once shone from each of them, as their current duties weighed both of them down and held them prisoner in the palace.

However, his words belied his thoughts. "I am no prisoner. I was quite a reckless youth, and sometimes it's hard to forget that part of my life."

Anne continued forward into the room, and her fingers gently grazed over the etched designs that he had just polished on the silver of the musket on the table. "I see how you long for freedom, your eyes always glancing out the windows when you think no one is looking."

Running his hand through his dark hair, Aramis noticed that one of the coils of her blonde hair had slipped free from the tangle of hair upon her head. That unruly lock fell down over her porcelain skin, and it brushed against the lace trim that outlined her feminine curves. Instinctively, he wanted to twist that lock of hair around his finger, but he had always been so hesitant about showing such affection for her while in his office. He was incessantly far too concerned over the risk of someone walking in with some kind of first minister business and seeing him being less than proper with the queen. If it was one thing he learned quickly in this role, it was that he always needed to sustain his affections until more private moments – for her safety and his.

Realizing that he could not hide his longing for his past, especially around Anne, Aramis gave a roguish smirk and a shrug of his shoulder. "I suppose there is something to be said for rushing head-long into a firefight or drawing a sword without ever being certain of survival."

Her lips curved into that smile – the one that brought a sparkle to her blue eyes and took away everything that made her regal. He knew he was the only one who could reveal the woman behind the royal mask that she had been trained to wear, and he felt that blossom of warmth in his chest whenever he managed to free her.

Anne brought her fingers from the freshly-polished musket and folded her hands in front of her, taking another step towards him. They stood slightly closer than propriety should allow, but still far enough away that if a suspecting wanderer happened by the office there was nothing they could accuse.

"What would put your mind at ease, Aramis?" Anne asked softly.

Aramis looked to her, noticing the grays of the evening shifting into the room, paling her gown but not her radiance. The dark corners of the room began creeping towards the center, casting long shadows of black that seemed to be slowly engulfing the two of them.

His mind raced with the possibilities of what he could ask of her – everything from the simple wish to hold her hand once more to the most complex of schemes that would put his life in danger. Taking a breath, he decided to leave the answer up to God to decide.

He closed his eyes and let his memories swirl through all he had accomplished in his time. He saw his life prior to becoming a musketeer, the years with his mother in the brothel and then with his father afterwards. He saw his life in the ranks of the musketeers with all the dangers and exciting adventures it brought. And then he saw himself as he is now, a mature man taking on the responsibility of the military decisions for the country in which he lived. But, amongst all those moments in his life – everything from his friends to his lovers – there was one place he had recently discovered that could ease his restless soul.

When he opened his eyes, he looked at Anne and his voice was soft, nothing short of certainty. However, he also revealed nothing of his plans. "Come with me."

Her eyebrows knitted in confusion and hesitation, yet a playful smile touched the corner of her lips, and she misinterpreted his words by believing he was jokingly asking her to leave the palace. "Aramis…"

Turning from her and looking through the window, Aramis watched the grays of night quickly taking over the oranges of daylight. He truly was happy with Anne and his son, and he would have to learn to accept that there would always be that restless part of him that craved adventure. He even admitted once in his life that he felt closest to God when his life was in danger and he was risking everything to ensure the safety of those he cared about most.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have asked," he said, shaking his head. "It's foolish to think that a queen and her first minister could just leave at a moment's notice and take a respite."

"No, it's not foolish," Anne told him quietly as she leaned against the desk with the weapons, careful to not disturb them. "I often think of just taking a carriage to some country estate where I can think of nothing but myself while I waste the day with no worries, listening to the birds singing freely and watching the wind lazily pushing the leaves in the trees."

Aramis shrugged his shoulders and turned to look at her, placing his hands on his hips. "I want more than just lazy days, Anne. I miss it – the thrill of not knowing if each moment was my last. There is just something about running headlong into danger that eases my soul and gives me a closeness to God that I just don't feel in these mundane tasks."

Anne pressed a hand to her stomach fearing the answer to the question she needed to ask, but she pushed with it anyway. "Do you want to resign your post as first minister and be with D'Artagnan at the garrison?"

Aramis pushed one of his hands through his hair and then dropped it to his side. Quietly, he told her, "That would mean leaving you and…our son."

Anne pushed herself away from the desk and took his hand in hers, feeling the roughness of his fingers and having memories of how his touch was so gentle despite the harshness of his hands. "If you feel imprisoned by this life…"

Pressing his forehead against hers, Aramis no longer cared about propriety as he cupped her cheek with his free hand. He closed his eyes and breathed in the heat of their closeness, feeling a desperation in his voice that he did not know he experienced. "Dear God, Anne, I never once felt imprisoned in your presence, and I have never been happier with you and the dauphin under my protection."

"But you are so restless, Aramis," Anne whispered in concern, her eyes closed as she relished the touch of his hand on her face. "There must be something that I can do."

Aramis kissed her forehead before he pulled back from her. He opened his eyes and dropped his hand to the turquoise and blue swirls of his first minister's coat that was resting on the back of the chair. He absently traced the stitching along the shoulder with a lone finger thinking of the weeks he had been in this position. It seemed nothing was ever accomplished, and while there were agreements on some subjects, others never came to a resolution. It was so different from apprehending a criminal and then going back to the garrison for some rest and a drink with his brothers.

"Please…just come with me," Aramis whispered softly, bringing his eyes back to hers.

Something in the former musketeer's dark irises caught Anne's, and she swallowed hard at the need that shone in them. It was not a need born of lust or physical want – it was an aching soul – one that was reaching out for someone to relieve the agony it was experiencing. And, in this moment, she realized that she would follow Aramis into Hell itself if it would save him from whatever restlessness was tearing up his soul.

Reaching out, Anne took his hand in hers and gave her quiet voice a resolution that she would not be dissuaded. "Dear Aramis, forgive my foolishness. I would be honored to come with you."

Bringing her hand to his lips, Aramis kissed the back of it with a passion that showed her just how grateful he was for her company. Quietly, he whispered, "You are not foolish, but concerned, and I promise we won't go far."

Releasing her hand, he stepped out of the first minister's office, aware of Anne following him. Keeping a proper distance as they walked the hallways, Aramis allowed Anne to catch up to him while he discussed many of the topics that had been brought to the council just the morning before. He spoke nothing of his plans for the moment, and maintained a pace that was reminiscent of the manner he always used when he was summoned to the council. He had decided that he would not let there be any indication that his walk with the queen was anything other than business, and as they passed a few nobles in the hallways Anne had nodded her head in acknowledgement of their curtsies and bows, adhering to propriety.

Staying beside Aramis, Anne was led up numerous staircases, each one bringing her one landing closer to the top floor of the palace. When they finally reached the top landing, Aramis took a single candle from one of the sconces. Using that bare light, he walked down the narrow corridor to a ladder that was standing against a wall with a small door above it.

Anne heard her skirts crinkling in the tight passageway, and she watched with even more curiosity as Aramis set the candle upon a single sconce that was near the awaiting ladder. He then ascended the ladder and unhooked the latch on the door above. Pushing the wooden door open, Anne was surprised that Aramis had kept it controlled enough to not bang when it landed on the outside. He then stepped down a couple rungs, and held out his hand for her.

Anne moved forward in the dim light, reaching up and allowing Aramis to help her up the first rung or two, but then after that she ascended the rest of the way on her own. When she reached the top of the ladder, he was there again to help bring her up the final few rungs.

As Aramis lifted Anne onto the roof, he kept his hands on her so that she could orient herself with the openness of the height above the ground. He could see the questions in her eyes, and he had decided that in time he would answer them all, but for now he wanted to be certain that she would not lose her balance. Even though this section of the roof was flat and more than wide enough for the two of them, he was still going to be cautious with Anne's life.

To their right was a thick spire that pointed upwards, as though reaching into the heavens, and Aramis led Anne to that spire. He helped her sit so that they could each lean against it beside each other. Their shoulders touched lightly, with Anne on his right. She settled with her legs tucked beneath her skirts, and he bent one knee casually, resting his arm across it.

"It's not a country estate," Aramis told her, observing how her eyes shifted upwards to the stars above them and then out to the glow of Paris around them. "But, I've learned to come here when I need to still the frustrations and the feeling that I can do nothing."

There was a continual breeze – not harsh or strong but gentle – that shifted upon the roof, and Anne did not fight the tendrils of her hair as they began loosening from the bundle on her head. She pushed some of the locks behind her ear as she turned to look at Aramis, and she saw the restlessness in his eyes begin to settle.

"How long have you been coming up here?" she asked.

Aramis studied the glow in the distance where he knew the garrison was located, and he briefly imagined D'Artagnan and Constance and their duties as they trained new cadets while making sure the veteran musketeers had their fill of work.

"At least two weeks," he replied. "I wandered around the palace one day when I was especially restless, and I found this entrance. It hadn't been used in quite some time so I had to initially pry the door open. When I stood on this roof for the first time, and I realized I could see everything all at once, it left me dizzy but also strangely relaxed."

"I have never been allowed anywhere near this wing of the palace before," Anne confessed softly. "I thought I had access to most – if not all of it – but Louis had always managed to have me escorted away from here and a few other places. I learned in my first couple months living here that there were just some places I would never be permitted, and I learned to live with the confinement from those areas."

"Then, let us consider this section of the palace no longer off-limits now," Aramis smiled.

Anne looked up and her eyes shifted amongst the stars, her voice growing further distant as she spoke. "I knew a couple constellations in my youth, but the lessons are so far gone from me now…I have never been this close to any of them."

Aramis lifted his hand and pointed to sections of the sky. "The most recognizable are Ursa Major and Ursa Minor."

"The bears," Anne confirmed as her eyes traced the outlines that the Greeks had once looked upon eons before she and Aramis existed.

"Sometimes we didn't have a compass to guide us," Aramis offered, "So just like the sailors, my musketeer brothers and I would use the constellations for navigating at night, and we would use the sun in the day."

Aramis felt Anne shift next to him, and her head leaned on his shoulder. He put an arm around her waist and watched her as she continued to trace the stars above with her eyes.

Her sudden whisper was awed and confused, "I've never seen one of those before."

Aramis looked up and caught a white pinprick streak across the sky, fading into oblivion somewhere in the blackness of night.

"There's another one," she breathed.

"Shooting stars," he confirmed. "Depending if you believe the astronomer or the lunatic, one says it's cosmic dust falling to the Earth and the other says it's the end of days."

"What do you believe, Aramis?" Anne asked.

"That we don't know for certain, and it is just a sight of beauty like so many other mysteries that we are not meant to understand."

"So, you come up here to rest when your heart and head grow weary?" Anne asked softly.

Aramis lowered his eyes to the gardens below, the trees and lawn sculptures hidden in the night. He brought his eyes back up, noticing that the moon was hanging low on the horizon, still just a portion of its full size. In a few more days, it would be full, and the gardens would have a milky glow, giving the sculptures just enough light to see them.

"I feel at peace here," Aramis explained, "Heaven is just above me, infinite and beautiful. The Earth below, sturdy and sure. I can see the garrison's glow at night, and I have no interruptions in my thoughts or my memories. This place has become my sanctuary – somewhere I can let my frustrations ease when I am confronted with the things I cannot fix or change."

Anne lifted her head from his shoulder to gaze into his dark eyes, seeing the calm settling over them. "Why show me this place if it is your sanctuary?"

Aramis took her other hand in his, gently holding her fingers within his. "Tell me what you feel as you look out over the land and the sky."

Anne took a breath, and as she brought her eyes to the distance around her, she could only think of one word. "Small."

"And, being small makes me understand that the things we cannot change or fix are insignificant when I look at the vastness of the universe that is around me," he explained. "It's why this place relaxes me, and a queen should have the same luxury. I offer my sanctuary to you so that we can share in the respite when our souls so greatly need the rest."

Bringing her eyes back to Aramis, Anne saw the kind soul inside him that had won over her affections so many years ago. Her words held no lie in that convent when she had told him that he was brave, and honorable, and kind. She had been forever grateful that she was the woman who was fortunate enough to be loved by him, and she was certain that no other man would ever share so compassionately the secrets with her that he did.

Moving her free hand to his face, Anne felt the heat of his skin despite the coolness of the late spring breeze that touched upon it. His stubble pressed against her palm, leaving little pinpricks, but where it was thicker it was soft despite it coarseness. She did not stop her eyes as they fell to his lips, and her heart rushed with the memories of how he could so gently press them against hers, even in their most passionate moments.

Aramis looked to his queen, the woman who had tamed his wild spirit, yet gave him enough freedom to allow it to roam unhindered when it needed. He would never see her as anything less than kind and wise, just as passionate when she believed strongly in something, as she was when she was offering her love.

Held captive by her gaze, Aramis saw in her eyes what she was asking of him, and he had known that he was helpless to her charms for years. Leaning forward, he let her pull his face towards hers as she closed her eyes and pressed her soft lips over his. He felt his eyes instinctively close, and he answered her touch with his own, shifting his position so that his hand slid tighter around her waist as he pulled her against him.

They remained embraced like that for long moments, lost solely in the company of each other. Their embrace was kind but impassioned, and when the need for air became too much, they broke the seal of their lips. Aramis touched his forehead upon hers, much the same as he had done in his office earlier.

"Perhaps we should return to your apartments," Aramis told her softly, fighting to catch his breath.

"No, Aramis," she whispered with a nervousness in her voice, as he felt her body trembling under his hands. Her next words took him by surprise, but he should have known by now that Anne was not one who shied away from the unexpected. After all, she had broken every rule of propriety to be with a musketeer – and in a _convent_ of all places. "I've never been under the stars before."

Bringing both of his hands to her face, Aramis felt her pull the ornaments from her hair as the tendrils fell free and covered his fingers.

"Majesty, I think you misunderstand the meaning of a respite," Aramis said, unable to resist the playful sarcasm that so easily fell from his lips.

Allowing him the rarity of her charmed wit, she softly replied, "I think, First Minister, that you will enjoy quite the rest afterwards."

Before he could offer another comment, Anne leaned into him and gently pushed him onto the floor of the roof as her lips came once again to his. Aramis slid his hands from her face to the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her long hair, and as she pressed her body against his, he decided that they didn't need a country estate or a place away from the palace. They had the heavens above and the earth below, and that was more than enough respite for a queen and her first minister.


End file.
